


Sweet Affections

by lenin_it_to_win_it



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, also erik has Sensory Issues, but not necessarily in a romantic way, christine loves and cares for her goblin dumbass, in addition to his Usual IssuesTM, shameless fluff nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 03:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17296778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenin_it_to_win_it/pseuds/lenin_it_to_win_it
Summary: Christine and Erik have tea together, and Erik provides several reasons, some more serious than others, why he should not have to try a piece of cake.





	Sweet Affections

**Author's Note:**

> this is mostly self-indulgent nonsense that im really only posting bc i feel bad about not updating "two promises" yet (ive actually written quite a bit for it but chronological order? whos she?) but if you're into reading about an ingenue and a sewer goblin enjoying eachothers company and also some cake you might like this!

Christine liked to have tea with Erik after her lessons.

Well, he didn’t know if she liked it, necessarily, but she let it happen. Erik was grateful for any excuse to spend more time in Christine’s presence, even if she did insist on making him try all kinds of disgustingly sugary things.

“I don’t see how you can stand it,” Erik had said one afternoon as Christine poured yet another spoonful of sugar into her tea. A few more spoonfuls, and the sugar content in the teacup would rival that of the slice of cake Christine had yet to taste. “All that sweetness.”

Christine made a face at him. “It helps me put up with your bitterness, you sour old man.” She stirred her tea for a moment, then pushed her plate of cake toward him. “Here, try some. It won’t kill you,” she added when Erik picked up the fork only to give the cake a distrustful poke.

“Hm.” Erik continued to scowl at the cake. “You don’t know that.”

Christine laughed. “What are you so worried about? Do you think I’m trying to poison you?”

“I can think of several possibilities.”

Christine lowered her teacup. “Erik, you’re not serious.”

Erik began listing off potential deaths. “I could choke, I could be allergic to one of the ingredients, it very well could be poisoned, for all I know. . .” He had been speaking in earnest, but he could tell that Christine was fighting back laughter, so he decided to play along. “Or, perhaps I might enjoy this cake so much that I eat too much of it and end up wedged in a corridor beneath the Palais Garnier, far below the ground where no one will never find me.” He leaned forward slightly, as if confiding a secret. “Some of those tunnels are quite narrow, Christine. I have to watch my figure.”

“Oh, do you now?” Christine bit her lip to keep from smiling.

“Why, yes, of course,” said Erik. “But that is only one of many ways a lust for cake might lead to an untimely grave. For, you never know, Christine,” he added solemnly. “I might become so eager to consume this delightful confection before me that I impale myself upon the fork in my haste and bleed to death before your very eyes.”

“Erik!” Christine covered her mouth, but she could not hide her sparkling eyes. “That’s terrible!”

“Ah, yes, terrible!” Erik cried, throwing himself back in his chair. “How terrible is your wretched Erik! Truly, he is so detestable and accursed that he will be struck dead by God himself the moment such a treat passes his unworthy lips! But such is the despairing existence I must lead, my angel— to be denied every joy and pleasure of this world, even one as simple as cake.”

Christine burst out laughing, and Erik couldn’t help but smile, proud of his success and overjoyed to have made Christine so happy. But Erik wasn’t done teasing her yet. “Oh, but what is this, my angel?” he asked in a tone of mock-surprise, putting a hand over his heart. “Can it be that you are. . . laughing? Yes, it appears you are, laughing at the jokes of a. . . what is it you called me, just then? Ah, that’s right— a ‘sour old man’!”

“You are sour!” Christine retorted through her giggles. “Only a stubborn, sour old man like you would go to such lengths to avoid eating a piece of cake!”

“Will you never let this go?”

Christine shook her head. “Never.”

Erik sighed and picked up the fork. “Very well, then. If you insist. . .” He took a bite of cake. Just as he expected, it was horrendously sweet, but the taste was not so abhorrent that he felt the need to spit it out. “Well, it appears no divine vengeance has been visited upon me for this grievous sin,” he said before rinsing the taste from his mouth with a sip of tea.

“Why don’t you finish it, then?” asked Christine.

“I don’t care for it, and, besides that, it’s yours, and I don't wish to deprive you of it,” Erik replied, pushing the plate back across the table. “You eat it.” In a sudden moment of panic, Erik feared that Christine would refuse to eat food that he had touched, but, no, Christine started eating without hesitation. With the same fork that, mere seconds ago, had been in Erik’s mouth. The realization made Erik flush beneath his mask.

“It tastes fine to me,” said Christine, drawing Erik out of his thoughts— a welcome intrusion. “What don’t you like about it? Or is it just that you don’t like anything sweet?”

Erik was inclined to argue, as Christine was the sweetest being in all creation and he loved her endlessly. Still, he knew all too well the guarded look that would come over her face if he said such a thing aloud, so he refrained. “Sweetness can be overwhelming."

“Well, maybe you’re just not used to it,” Christine suggested.

It was possible, but Erik wasn’t so certain. “Many things are overwhelming to me— certain tastes, textures, noises. . . the sunlight, when I’m outside. . .”

“Oh!” Christine exclaimed, suddenly turning around to look at the large window behind her. It was a bright day outside, and sunlight was streaming in. “Is it hurting you? Do you need to switch sides?” Christine asked. She pushed her chair back from the table, preparing to move.

“No, not at all!” Erik rushed to reassure her, flustered, embarrassed, and more than a little touched to see Christine so concerned on his behalf. “Do not worry, my angel.”

“ _It’s only simple courtesy,”_ Erik thought to himself. But courtesy alone was more than anyone else had been willing to give him, and it was certainly more than he deserved from Christine, of all people, who had every right to despise him.

Christine, who had every right to despise Erik, watched him with caring, compassionate eyes. “What happens when you get. . . overwhelmed?” she asked. “Does it happen often? Has it happened while I’m around?”

“Well. . .” Erik hadn’t expected Christine to be interested in hearing more, and he was uncertain how much to tell her. He didn’t want to lie to her, but suppose the truth upset her? Suppose he made her cry? Erik, for all his worldly knowledge, was very bad at predicting what would or would not make Christine cry. Of course, a small, shameful part of Erik was not entirely opposed to seeing Christine moved to tears by his plight— not so terribly sad that she would never recover, but just sad enough to cry over him, just for a little while, long enough to call him ‘poor Erik’ and give him a soft and pitying kiss. . . But, no, Erik would not make her cry; he would be the good man Christine thought she could see in him, someone worthy of her boundless compassion.

“I suppose my senses are very acute,” said Erik slowly, still hesitant to say more. “It is very advantageous for me, in most cases. In music, for example.” Christine lit up at the mention of music, and Erik decided it would be best to start with the positives. “I’m sure you can understand why good hearing would be useful for a musician. Every instrument, every note is perfectly clear to me, even when there are many being played at once.”

“Like in a symphony,” Christine suggested. “Or an opera.”

“Yes, exactly.” Erik found himself smiling— how could he not, when Christine was being so adorably precocious? “Music may have elements of chaos, but it is never chaotic— there is always a score, somewhere, and even if I’m not studying it on paper, I can read it in my mind. I can always hear everything, and I can always understand it, always knowing that everything is exactly in its place. . . I can drown in music without ever suffocating.”

Christine let out a soft exhalation of wonder, and Erik almost felt guilty. He hadn’t intended to charm her with his speech— he had only gotten carried away talking about music, and it appeared Christine had gotten carried away listening.

“ _Well_ ,” Erik thought. “ _At least this will pull her out of it_.”

“But I cannot turn off my ears when the music stops,” he said, lowering his voice. “And the world does not come with a score. There are so many sounds, so many discordant sounds, and I can hear them all, all of them at once. . . And then it fractures. I hear nothing, silence— then a flute, then the trumpet, a violin in the distance, the flute again, the piano, then drums, rumbling drums, louder than I can stand—”

“Stop.” Christine’s face was pale. “I don’t think I need to hear anymore.”

Erik froze. “Am I frightening you?” He was so angry with himself he could scream, so bitterly disappointed he could cry. He should have known better than to talk like that! He should have kept a closer eye on Christine instead of getting swept up in his own emotions! Why was he always so horrible and selfish, even when he tried so desperately to be good?

But Christine laid her hand on Erik’s. “You’re trembling.”

“I—” Erik looked down at their joined hands; he could see his fingers twitching, but he was not aware of any movement. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“I’m sorry, Erik.” Christine began to stroke his hand, and Erik watched the shaking slow, then stop. “I wouldn’t have asked you to talk about it if I knew it would upset you like this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“ _It’s mine, of course. It’s always my fault. I lost control. I should have been better. I’ve upset her, and it’s all my fault_ . .”

As if she could read Erik’s mind, Christine said, “It isn’t yours, either.”

Erik shook his head, but he didn’t have the heart to argue with her. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he wasn’t sure what would help. Erik’s eyes slid from his and Christine’s hands to the barely touched plate of cake.“The cake was fine,” he said. “I didn’t care for the taste, but it wasn’t. . . distressing. I wasn’t overwhelmed.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Christine, relieved. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Erik shook his head. “You could never.” Before he could think better of it, Erik set his other hand on top of Christine’s. “You will always be music to me, worth every second of chaos and cacophony.”

Christine laughed, giving Erik’s hand one final squeeze. “And you’ll always be my sour old man.”

Despite his inner happiness, Erik sighed. “Alas.”

Christine took a bite of cake, then gestured at Erik with her fork. “And I’ll find something sweet that you’ll like, one of these days— you’ll see!” she declared with a triumphant smile.

Erik wasn’t sure if the expression he made in response could have been considered a smile, but it was a close and heartfelt approximation. “And so you shall,” he said, watching Christine tear into the cake. She had somehow gotten a tiny bit of frosting on her cheek; Erik knew he ought to have been appalled by such an ill-mannered display, but he found himself helplessly charmed instead. He was doomed to love her forever, it seemed. Doomed to love her, but blessed beyond measure by her sweet affections. “I’m defenseless against you.”

**Author's Note:**

> *erik voice* i gotta keep this waist SNATCHED henny


End file.
